House Party
by Ruthless Bunny
Summary: House has inherited Jeeves, a valet from England. My, but it's crowded around here. Crossover with P.G. Wodehouse stuff. Chapter 5Jeeves and the Houseguests
1. Default Chapter

House Party

I'm often asked how I've come to have my man Jeeves. It's rather an odd thing in the US to have a gentleman's gentleman, especially if you work and are no one particularly rich or special. I acquired Jeeves when my grandmother, Clemintina Wickham Wooster died last month in England.

I've always enjoyed my grandmother Clemintina. She was mischievous. As a child I was sent to stay with my relations in England every summer. My family in England has always been well off and well connected. Although we don't possess any real property or titles or anything romantic like that, we are solidly in the upper sections of society there. If you call that society. In a Jane Austin novel, my family would be gentry.

At first it was rather a scandal, my mother marrying my father. He was a regular guy from Ohio. My mother was an exchange student from London. They met in college and one thing led to another.

My mother liked to tell the story of how my father was first introduced to the family. My father is a very earnest guy, unacquainted with the ways of the British aristocracy. By that I mean that he was not prepared for the absolute silliness of my grandparents.

My grandfather Bertram was still alive at that time and it had been said that if his man Jeeves (my man's grandfather) had ever left him, that within a fortnight all that would be left was a naked man crying in a crater. I was very young when Grandfather died, but I remember him as a sweet, kindly idiot.

My grandmother was quite a bit younger than my grandfather. There was a story about how once, in the company of her older sister, my grandmother was taken without leave from her girl's school and given an outing and then foisted off on Grandfather to take back to school. Apparently there was a contretemps about how to return her without being detected. The result of the affair was that Grandfather was required to give a speech to hundreds of little girls who delighted in taunting him. He claimed that the experience was so beastly that it put him off children for years. Grandmother said that on that day she was determined that she'd marry Grandfather, based upon the funny faces he had made.

When mother brought father home to meet the pair of them, he was expecting a very sober and stiff pair of English aristocrats. Instead both Grandfather and Grandmother were a bit hung-over from some party they had attended the previous evening and were applying the remedy of 'the hair of the dog.' Father often remarked that it was fortunate that my grandparents were financially independent since neither one of them was able to actually perform any real work.

My childhood was a normal American upbringing, punctuated by English tradition. For nine months of the year we lived in a middle-class suburb. My mother insisted on top notch private schooling, but other than that, I ran wild with the kids in the neighborhood. Every summer Mother would pack us away to her parents. We'd gather at house parties where we children would play in the hedgerows, learn tennis from tutors and torment the peacocks and swans that so picturesquely dotted the landscape. Sometimes we'd all repair to some vacation spot 'on the continent' to 'holiday' among the jet set. We'd rent a villa in Sardinia or a penthouse in Portugal, or broil ourselves on the beaches of Majorca.

In the background would be the servants. Jeeves was the true master of the house. He had come into service as my grandfather's valet and had become elevated to butler when my grandparents married. Jeeves ended up marrying the cook and so a dynasty was born. Three generations of Jeeves have served in my grandmother's home, the last was a capable man whose diplomacy and tact served well as my grandmother's health began to fail. In America we'd need to move her into assisted living. Thank God with the help of Jeeves and her nurse she was able to end her days as she was accustomed to living them.

After the funeral and all had been sorted out, I found that I was possessed of a small competence and Jeeves. At first I was loathe to bring him back with me to New Jersey. After all, what did I need him for? I managed by myself for nearly 45 years without any help from anyone. But according to my Grandmother's legacy, Jeeves would have employment with me and I couldn't very well leave him out in the cold could I?

Once I got back home I thought I'd go back to my routine and he'd figure out some way to spend his days. I only needed Jeeves during the great 'house party affair' to see that my life before him was a mere shell of what it could be.

Upon my homecoming in America I returned to the hospital where I am employed. I have a small staff and together we work to discover the mysteries of illness. I prefer to do this unfettered and in my own way, however I am plagued with the presence of Vogler. Vogler is a self-made man who has managed to buy his way onto the board of directors of our hospital. As is the wont of a self-made man, he believes that his largesse entitles him to run our hospital to his specifications.

From the beginning the Vogler and I have not seen eye-to-eye. In fact you can say that we have antipathy towards each other. He has made it clear that he would like me and my staff to remove ourselves to another worthy institution. It is a problem you see, because I have tenure, which means that unless I do something truly heinous, I can't be removed. Vogler has been on a campaign to make me as miserable at work as possible. Naturally I employ methods that confound his plans. It's amusing, but innocent people might be hurt.

On the morning of my return to work Jeeves wafted into my room with a breakfast tray. Already I could see the benefit of a valet in the home. The coffee he brewed was hot and strong. The orange juice fresh squeezed. The bacon and eggs were just as I like them. The toast was hot and buttered in the American way that I preferred. I thought that a lark might perch itself on my window sill and trill a tune the scene was so perfect.

"Sir, I've laid out your suit for this morning. I trust that it will be appropriate for your work." Jeeves informed me in that low voice of his. Something soothing about someone arranging all of the details of your life.

I glanced over at the clothes and realized that the man had me in a full suit. I didn't know I owned a suit. "Jeeves, where did that come from?"

"Bond Street sir, Mr. Gieves is our tailor." He brushed some imaginary lint from the lapel.

"Oh. Jeeves, I hate to break it to you, but I don't wear suits to work. I like to be comfortable. I wear jeans." I went back to my breakfast noting that there was a small, broiled tomato on the plate. So English.

"Sir," he had a pained look on his face, "I think you'll find this suit quite comfortable." He held up the jacket, presumably to show the drape.

I shrugged. Before him I was lucky to get out of the house with clean clothes. Besides, it would shake up Vogler to see me all suited up. "Why not? Okay, it will take me just a few minutes to shower and then I'll be up and out of your hair for the day."

"Yes sir. I'll get the shaving things ready." He disappeared into the bathroom and I heard him prepare something.

I wandered in and saw that he had set up a chair and had an old fashioned straight razor and shaving cream waiting for me. If I wasn't mistaken, there was also a hot towel. I figured that for the first morning I'd go along with it, after all the man was an ocean away from his home, but after this morning we'd return to my old habits.

Miraculously I was ready to depart with plenty of time to get to the hospital. Just as I was leaving; Jeeves handed me a white lab coat. It seemed odd that he would want me to wear something so prosaic over my bespoke tailored suit. I absently took it from him, with the intention of leaving it in the car. Permanently. But then I felt the fabric. It was soft and lightweight. It wasn't a lab coat, it was a security blanket. I slid it on over the suit and glanced at myself in the mirror. All fresh shaven, shorn and attired I actually looked pretty good. My cane, which formerly I had regarded as a necessary evil now looked entirely in place with my raiment.

The white coat especially made me look dashing. I checked the pockets and found that there was ample room for my Game Boy, iPod, stethoscope and other tools of my trade. On my other lab coats I had my name embroidered in blue stitching. "Jeeves, shall we send this out to be embroidered?"

"I'm sorry sir?" He looked at me expectantly.

"You know, to have my name put on here." I pointed at the left side of my new lab coat.

He seemed puzzled. "Like a petrol attendant sir?" He waited.

I finally got what he was driving at. "Oh. I guess not. Uh, okay, I'll see you later."

"What time shall I expect you for supper sir?"

"Supper?" I never worried about the evening meal. Sometimes I'd grab a burger, or eat some cereal or something.

"Yes, shall you be dining here, or will you be dining out this evening?"

This seemed like a good opportunity to show off a bit. "Let's have dinner for 7:30 this evening and make it for two."

"Very good, sir." He waited at the door until I drove away.

When I arrived at work Wilson accosted me first thing. "Sorry to hear about your Grandmother."

"Thanks." I booted up my computer and I expected to be sorting through e-mails for most of the morning. "Oh, you're invited to dine with me this evening."

"Excuse me?" Wilson seemed to be taking in my new appearance, as well as my manner of speaking. I had to remember that I was back in the states now.

"Dinner. My house. Eat." I decoded for him.

"Eat dinner with you at your house?" He regarded me warily. "Since when do you cook?"

"I don't. But trust me, you'll like it." As I feared, there were at least 300 e-mails to delete.

Wilson shook his head, "Okay, you're on. What can I bring?"

I thought about it, "Nothing. I have a feeling it will all be covered. 7:30 don't be late."

My day was rather slow, no patients to see, no insurgence among my staff and nothing from Vogler to spoil my routine of e-mail deletion and soap operas. Well, that was true until about 4:30 when a large, cream-colored envelope was delivered to me by Dr. Cuddy, the chief of staff.

She usually huffed into a room. I had once admired her, some years ago, but now every time she spoke to me it caused me a pain about three feet south of my head. "Here." She thrust the envelope into my hands. "You're expected to come and stay for the weekend."

I thought it would be judicious just to fix her with a hairy eyeball and a dose of guilt. "Yes, it is quite sad about my grandmother."

"Oh. Right. Uh, condolences." She at least had the grace to avert her gaze.

I opened the missive. It was baroque; thick rag-paper, hand calligraphy, embossed, a bit ornate for a country house party. I searched for a papal seal and found none. "Oh, a weekend at Vogler's. I think I can safely give that a miss."

She crossed her arms over her chest, "you can think again. You will be there and you will be civil. It's a fund-raiser and it would be good politics for you to show up, especially after your performance at the conference."

"I see. I owe you this?" I shoved all the pieces back into the envelope as best I could. She was right, I had behaved disgracefully, "Why on earth would the man want me in his home? Aren't you the least bit suspicious?"

Cuddy tried to say something, but she knew I was right. She knew Vogler was toying with me and she suspected, as I did, that this house party was some kind of trap for me. "I'm trying to run a hospital here. I wish that you and Vogler would just get a ruler and settle this once and for all. It's been quiet while you were gone. I've been able to get my work done without unnecessary strum und drang. Not that I think you feel obligated, but as a favor to me, please, just show up, be polite and stay out of the way."

It was my turn to huff. "But it's my weekend." I sounded petulant. Cuddy stared at me as though I was something that she needed to scrape off the bottom of her shoe. I realized that I wasn't going to win. Not this round at any rate. "Fine. But you're buying me lunch on Wednesday."

"Why Wednesday?"

"I'll be hungry on Wednesday. Now I have important work to do." I shooed her out under the pretext of clearing out my voice mailbox.

I was able to get everything fairly well organized by the time Wilson rolled by my office at around 6:30. "So I guess you've heard about Vogler's weekend golf outing?"

I indicated my envelope and shuddered, "The Hamptons. It's so crowded there. I guess it can't be helped."

Wilson leaned in, he gossiped like a girl when he had the chance. "It won't be crowded at Vogler's. It's a huge estate. It should be some wing-ding."

"So you're actually looking forward to this? I guess you're not bringing the wife?" I gave my yo-yo another twirl.

He seemed hurt, "Well, no. She's visiting her sister, or something."

"You really must keep better track of these things. So what exactly is this all about anyway?" I wound up my toy and stuck it in the top drawer.

"Vogler has invited some of his fellow bazillionaires up to his estate to hob-nob with some of the staff from the hospital. It's his idea that they will be so impressed with us that they'll open up their wallets and rain riches upon us." He leaned against my desk. I looked at the name embroidered on his lab coat. Jeeves was right. It looked outré.

"So why ask me? He especially doesn't approve of my department. If he could, he'd do away with it wholesale." I put a few of the piles into order on my desk.

"I think he's coming to understand that you're the big name. Either that, or he's got a plan to torture you." He smiled that smile, "so what's for dinner?"

"I don't know really, we'll find out when we get there. Come on, if we leave now, we'll be in time for cocktail hour." I shoved him towards the door and turned out the light.

I showed Wilson into the living room. There were two new chairs and a small table. "Jeeves!" I called.

"Sir?" He answered, carrying a tray with two glasses.

"What is this?" I motioned towards the new furniture.

"Oh, we have these on approval." He explained "Scotch and soda?" He inquired.

"Where on earth did you get a soda siphon? I thought those went the way of the do-do." I commented, nodding in the affirmative. "Oh, this is Dr. Wilson, a colleague of mine."

He nodded at Wilson and offered him a libation. "Indeed not sir, this was quite easily come by in a shop in the high street. Here are some cheese straws; dinner will be served shortly." He took our coats and oozed out of the room.

Wilson stood agog. "Who was that?"

I sat down in one of the new chairs, a wing chair covered in a handsome, burgundy fabric. "That's Jeeves. I inherited him. Sit down, this chair is deceptively comfortable." I settled in and sipped my cocktail.

Wilson continued, "And he's in your kitchen cooking dinner?"

"Yes, he's a valet. He looks after me." I smiled.

"Greg, that's a bit much even for you. A valet?" He gave it the French pronunciation.

"Valet, rhymes with pallet, not ballet. Or gentleman's gentleman. He's great. His family's been with our family for years. He's grandmother's bequest." I drained my glass. Strains of Mozart could be heard throughout the room. Relaxing and civilized. That's what it was.

"Your family in Ohio kept servants? Where, in the garage?" Wilson looked around and admired the room. "What's going on here? It's clean. It's organized."

"My family in London. England. They've been there for a few centuries. They've picked up some things along the way. Now I've picked up Jeeves. I'm beginning to wonder how I ever got along without him."

Wilson finished his drink as Jeeves appeared at the door, "dinner is served sir."

We went in to my dining area and sat down at a perfectly laid table. Somewhere he had dug up the dishes, stemware and silver that I thought were too good to use. "Jeeves, what happened to my other glasses?"

"I regret sir that it was necessary to replace those…items. I fear that _the Archies_ do not allow the Cote du Rhone the proper room to breathe. I found these in storage and I believe that they will serve nicely." He poured us each a glass of wine in large, crystal goblets, and went into the kitchen for the first dish, a bit of turbot.

Dinner wasn't much, after all a valet isn't a cook, but Jeeves acquitted himself well with four courses. The cutlets were especially good. I rarely ate lamb outside of the United Kingdom. Dessert came in and I was delighted to discover that it was floating island. I had always loved it when I was a kid and it never occurred to me that Jeeves could make it for me.

Wilson just stared at it, poking at the meringue. I tucked right in. "Jeeves, you've outdone yourself, this is amazing. Tell me you make blanc mange too." I licked my spoon.

"Yes sir, and trifle, roly poly pudding, anything you like sir." He smiled at my evident enjoyment of his talents.

"Jeeves, I was skeptical about this arrangement, but I think you and I are going to get along famously." I spooned up another mouthful of custard.

"I endeavor to give satisfaction sir." He moved back into the kitchen.

Wilson fixed me with a stare, "I don't know you at all, do I?"


	2. Jeeves Saves the Day

House Party—Jeeves saves the day.

In the intervening week or so Jeeves proved himself an invaluable addition to my small household. My wardrobe was overhauled, my belongings rearranged or replaced and my life settled into a comforting routine. Where my house had formerly seemed cold, dark and unwelcoming, it was now warm, bright and comfortable. I enjoyed knowing that Jeeves hovered about, anticipating my whims and fulfilling them wordlessly. I was clothed, fed and cared for. It gave me time to think.

The day before our departure for the Hamptons, Jeeves was laying out my attire for the weekend. It was a three-hour drive from Princeton and we expected fair weather for the trip. Normally, I would have just stuffed some jeans in a duffel, but Jeeves had somehow obtained intelligence that this was to be an old-fashioned house party and had some notion of getting me up in no fewer than nine outfits for a 48-hour period.

I lounged on a new leather divan in my bedroom and watched as he wrapped everything in tissue paper for our trip.

"So where did these suitcases come from?" I referred to the tan leather which had been oiled to a sheen.

"These belonged to the late Mr. Wooster, it's been a quite a while since they've been pressed into use, but I believe that they still have many years of service in them." He put a stack of shirts into a Gladstone bag. When it was all done, I had three cases, binoculars and a portable bar (mostly because I thought it was incredibly cool.) I also had three of my grandfather's walking sticks; one of rosewood, one of bamboo and one of ebony for evenings.

By some miracle it all fit into the trunk of my car and we managed to make good time to Southampton. I arrived just as some of the other dignitaries pulled up. Vogler stood at the top of some stairs of a newish (and garish) estate house. Some might have referred to it as a McMansion for its dreadful mix of styles and obvious lack of historical relevance. Personally, I thought it gave the McMansion a bad name. I also did not appreciate having to mount such a large number of stairs.

I got out of the car and Jeeves pulled it around to the back of the house to arrange for the disgorging of our worldly possessions. I admit, Jeeves had dressed me perfectly for the occasion. The other guests were milling about in khakis and golf shirts looking like their wives had attired them in Garanimals. I wore light wool slacks, and my grandfather's made-over Magdalen jacket. The Chuck Taylors went perfectly with the outfit and gave it a 'go to hell' attitude in a very old money way. I don't think that Vogler got the joke.

When I finally got to the entry hall a maid was handing glasses of champagne around as though we were arriving on a cruise ship. Our host made his way over to me. "House! Glad you could make it. Come in, meet some of my friends." He was acting as if he was thrilled to number me among his denizens. My suspicion was immediately aroused. Cuddy sipped the champagne and smiled as she glad-handed a golf-shirted nimrod. I half expected him to be wearing his spikes. Chase and Foreman stood speaking to each other in the corner. I avoided their gaze. I spent the rest of time searching for a friendly face. Wilson was not due to arrive until the following day owing to a 'family emergency.' Luckily I found the library and was able to peruse an interesting volume while waiting for the dinner gong. Jeeves floated in as I was putting the book away.

"Sir, I regret to inform you that there has been some mix-up in our accommodation." He communicated this in a very low and serious tone.

"Don't they have a room for you? I thought we called ahead…" I knew the Vogler was going to screw me over somehow.

"It's not that. I have been ensconced along with the staff over the garage. There is a young lady in our room." He seemed positively put out.

"Jeeves, I'm sure that it's a mistake, let's go up and see what we can make of the situation." I had to navigate a large, spiraling staircase and was led into a room that was interior decorated within an inch of its life. It looked like a hotel room, rather than a room in someone's private home. Sitting on the edge of the bed, quite forlorn, was Cameron.

"Oh, it's you. I thought it was one of those bigwigs." She heaved a sigh of relief.

"Jeeves, I'd like to introduce you to Dr. Cameron. Dr. Cameron, this is my valet, Jeeves." I made the introductions.

"Very pleased to make your acquaintance madam. Do not trouble yourself; I will endeavor to arrange more suitable accommodation. In the meantime, I understand that they were serving wine downstairs. Perhaps Dr. House would find it more agreeable to have a more…appropriate cocktail?" He opened up my traveling bar and in two ticks had managed to set us up with a bracing scotch. He then oiled out, presumably to whip up a new wing of the house.

Cameron and I sat there quietly nursing our drinks when Vogler popped in. "Hello, I've just heard that there's been some sort of problem with your room." He looked around as if to see in what manner the room had been damaged.

"Yes. It seems that both Dr. House and I are meant to share." Cameron stated. I wish she hadn't as I had a sudden thought about how this was going to turn out.

"Certainly. I'm no prude." He smiled at me and nearly winked.

I stood up. I don't know if it was the fact that this man had been bullying me for weeks, or if it was merely his insufferable self, but I was getting tired of being pushed around. "I think you're mistaken." Further explanation would have lent credence to his assertion.

"Am I? Well, I'm a bit short on space at the moment, and I hope you won't find it awkward, but if you wouldn't mind…" He nearly finished his thought when Jeeves reappeared. He cleared his throat and waited. "Who's this?" Vogler asked.

"Mr. Vogler, this is my man Jeeves. Jeeves, this is our gracious host, Mr. Vogler." I sat down. Vogler was on his own.

"Very good, sir." He nodded at Vogler, "I believe we have been able to accommodate you in the pool house. Mrs. Wellington has kindly offered to have one of the maids make it up for you. I shall just relocate your bags to that vicinity." He moved to get the luggage.

"All's well, that end's well, right Vogler? I'm off again. Jeeves go ahead with the bags; it'll take me some time to navigate those stairs." I sat down and proceeded to finish my drink.

Vogler, seeing that he was superfluous, made himself scarce.

Cameron had watched the small pageant with wide eyes. As the door closed behind our host she giggled with relief. "I like Jeeves. Did you see Vogler's face? That was great."

"Jeeves is amazing. Well, it's time for me to toddle off now. We're changing for dinner."

After a short expedition I was able to locate the pool house. Far from the cabana I had expected, it was a villa with a sofa, refreshment center, television and bathroom. The furnishings were gaudy in their use of bright colors and accented with pieces designed to look like sheaves of bleached bamboo topped with glass. Bloody awful. I found Jeeves hanging up my things in a makeshift closet.

I flopped on the overstuffed sofa that I assumed would be my bed. "Hey, this isn't so bad. At least I won't be climbing Mt. Everest all day long." I twirled my cane contentedly. "You handled that situation beautifully. Could have been dashed awkward."

"I trust that the young lady is well situated?" Jeeves asked as he checked the crease in my dinner suit.

"I suppose. So what will it be this evening? White sport coat? Pink Carnation?" I began to whistle the tune.

"Yes sir." He draped a black bowtie around the hanger with my shirt, "I think the onyx studs this evening." He opened a case and began to insert them into the shirt.

"Oh Jeeves, how about a pink tie instead of the black?" I thought I'd try to get into the spirit of the thing.

"I think not sir. Black tie is much more suitable for evening." He got out my shoes and gave them a brisk rub down.

"But pink is the latest color. Donald Trump often wears a pink tie." I explained.

"Exactly sir." He paused politely for me to get the point.

"Ah. Black it is then. I guess the sun has dipped over the yardarm." With Jeeves's help I was dressed and looking like James Bond's second cousin.

When I arrived back at the main house the cocktail hour was in full swing. A jazz combo had set up shop in the corner and was playing the sort of music so innocuous that you'd almost believe that you were in a dentist's office. I was finding all of this entertainment exhausting and tried to locate a chair in a corner where I might relax and unwind.

A liveried servant, or perhaps it was just a college kid trying to make a few spare bucks, proffered a tray with the sort of canapés that are more art than food. I waved him on, preferring to wait for dinner to ruin my appetite.

Cameron stood in a corner worrying her thumbnail. She seemed ill at ease. A few of the men smiled politely at her, but she didn't encourage them to actually stop and speak to her. I caught her eye and she wandered over.

"So how's the pool house?" She held the remnants of a fois gras puff in her hand.

"Comfortable enough. He's got a plasma TV in there, what do you bet he doesn't have cable?"

She rolled her eyes. "This house is so unwelcoming. Why do I have to be here? I'm leaving next week." She waved off another uniformed waiter trying to foist off more of the champagne.

"Ah, but if you weren't here then Vogler wouldn't be able to try to throw us together in compromising positions." I enlightened her. "Besides, I'm glad I have the opportunity to try and change your mind."

She huffed. Funny how I manage to choose women who huff. It must say something about my psychology. She sat down in the chair next to mine. "How can we play with his head?"

"Pardon?" I was beginning to feel the effects of a scotch and Vicodin cocktail. Quite a nice buzz actually.

"I'm tired of his manipulating us and making us miserable. I want to mess with him for a change. Besides, I'm leaving anyway so I don't really care right now what he thinks of me." Her eyes flashed when she spoke, I believe that there was an honest hatred there. It increased my respect for her.

Just as she leaned in to emphasize her point, Vogler rolled up on us. "Good evening Dr. House, Dr. Cameron. How are you enjoying the party?"

Cameron smiled at him, "Fine, thank you."

"House, nice tuxedo. Armani?" Trust Vogler to figure out a way to be vulgar in so few words.

"No. Mine." There's nothing quite like that buzz.

"Huh." It was a cross between a laugh and a challenge. "Well, enjoy yourself." He oozed away.

Cameron picked at the top layer of her dress. "I'm so bored."

"You should drink something." I stared at the ceiling. I half expected to find a cherub smiling down on me. Luckily it was only gilded plaster.

"Come on. Let's see if we can't scare up some excitement." She grabbed my arm and I found myself walking behind her as she made for a large patch of lawn just beyond the flagstone patio.

It was one of those breezy summer evenings you get off the shore. Cameron was wearing something diaphanous and it wafted around her ankles. She had kicked off her sandals and was carrying them by their straps. "This grass feels like velvet." She twirled around. For just a moment I felt like Nick Carraway. As she capered on the lawn, reveling in the sensations of a summer evening, I reflected on our situation with Vogler.

There are things one doesn't like to admit. Vogler inspired in me a healthy contempt. More than just disagreeing with the man, I sincerely loathed him. I actually wished him harm. While I don't like the public in general, and I have been described as misanthropic, it's a rare bird that inspires such hatred. Vogler was that rare bird.

What I most despised about him was his desire to dominate me. Vogler, plain and simple, was a bully. I don't know if it's because he was picked on as a child, although I don't know how he could have avoided it, but the man was massively insecure. The sort who would own a helicopter just to impress girls.

I'm a stubborn ass. Even my mother says so. When confronted with this infantile behavior, rather than rise above the fray, so to speak, I get right down in it. So Vogler and I had been escalating our hostilities and were up to DEFCON 2. When Cameron informed me of her intention to find other employment I momentarily went to DEFCON 1, but upon greater consideration I thought that the collateral damage would be too costly. Saner heads prevailed.

The entire time I was under Vogler's Mansard roof I felt that I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. At this point in my life I've been intimidated by all sorts. Administrators, department heads, the lady in the cafeteria who scrambles the eggs in the morning. All have tried to get the best of me, and most have failed. (The egg lady being the notable exception.) I knew that retribution for the conference was on the agenda. I just didn't know when. Sometimes it's not the blow, but the anticipation of it, that is the worry.

I tried to put it out of my mind as I watched Cameron dance about. There is something quite winsome about the girl and frankly she inspired in me a protective feeling. I try not to think about her romantically. She has a history of adopting wounded birds that I find troubling. Besides, I really don't see a lovely young woman like her attaching herself to a broken-down wreck of a man like me. Not for long at any rate.

Cameron paused on the edge of the lawn which tapered into a stone retaining wall. A gust of wind kicked up and caused her gown to billow up. Nice legs. I pushed the thought from my mind. "Come on! It feels great!" She called to me. I waved but stayed put on the patio.

A shadow fell over me and I could feel Vogler breathing down my neck. "Are you sure I was mistaken?"

I pushed down the anger and thought about WWJD, What Would Jeeves Do? I turned to him and backed up to get a bit of personal space back. "Mistaken? Certainly. About almost everything." I turned my attention back to Cameron who noticed that I was no longer alone and had gathered her dress about her to walk slowly back across the grass. I don't think that Jeeves would have thrown in the last remark, but hey, I'm not Jeeves.

"House, I know we have our differences, but I was hoping that we could come to a…rapprochement. I admire your work, even if I don't admire your methods. Is it so hard for you to meet me half-way on this? Throw me a bone?" He gave me an expression that would be entirely appropriate on a St. Bernard; doleful in its aspect. It made me shudder.

In my experience your enemies will lull you into a sense of complacency before thrusting the knife in your back. Instinctively I moved backwards a step. I could see Cameron hovering at the edge of our conversation, just in time to hear the last parts of it. "Vogler, frankly I don't see how it can be accomplished. We are just too different. While it is a seemingly large place, I don't think that the hospital is big enough for the both of us. Additionally, a big fellow like you wouldn't be satisfied with just one bone; you'd need a whole skeleton. I don't know that I can afford you." I moved as though to go back into the house, he blocked my way.

"I tried being reasonable. But to continue your metaphor, I am the big dog. And I don't think you're up to running with me." He glowered at me. I'm beginning to think that no one has ever said no to him.

"Oh, make fun of the cripple. Nice. Are you this polite to all of your guests?" I tried to push past him, but he eclipsed the door.

He smiled most insincerely, "Dr. House, I really do think that you ought to give considerable thought to my…request." He nodded at Cameron and hulked back into the house.

"And your little dog too? Sheesh. You're right, he'll never be satisfied." Cameron stood quietly at my elbow. "I'm glad I'm leaving. You know what would be great? If we just packed up and went home." She was angry enough for the both of us.

"No, let's not do anything rash. If we stick around we might find his secret stash of porn. What do you suppose he fancies? I think he likes to be dressed up like a baby." We followed the crowd as they slowly made their way into dinner.

Cameron laughed, "definitely an enema fixation."

Dinner was a twelve course ordeal. The menu was selected to showcase a series of expensive and sub-par wines. Finally, after a long and trying day, I was allowed to return to my room. The sofa had converted into a bed and Jeeves had left the remote where I could reach it. I ended the evening watching Adult Swim.


	3. Jeeves and the Game of Gof

Jeeves and the Game of Gof

Morning dawned a bit too chirpy for me. I slept pretty well for someone bedded out on a sleeper sofa. Good drugs. Jeeves came in with my breakfast, saving me from having to dress and be civil earlier than I wanted. He noiselessly set out some clothes for me.

"Sir, you have a ten A.M. tee time." He informed me.

"Tee time? But I don't play golf. Can't I just sit around here?" I sipped my coffee.

Jeeves shook his head, "I regret not sir. It is the activity slated for today." He waited for me to rise up out of bed and face the day. Unfortunately I was in one of my moods.

I don't know if you've ever had to live with chronic pain, but if you have, you'll understand. When you are in pain all of the time, even with a good prescription, it takes something out of you. That Saturday all I wanted to do was lay about, read magazines and perhaps soak in the tub. For about the millionth time I wished that I had just stayed home. If you ever are put in a situation where someone asks you to do something and you don't want to do it. Take my advice, don't. Jeeves stared at me, waiting. "Oh fine. I'll get showered and I'll get out of here."

I stomped into the shower. Far from the luxurious affair one might see in the main house, my shower was ordinary. Good and hot, I'll grant, but not the shower experience that I craved. I wanted to be blasted by seven separate jets. I wanted to feel like I was in a waterfall, in a rainstorm in the ocean. But no it was just your standard water falling out of a pipe in the wall. Disappointing.

Just as Jeeves was helping me get that jaunty look to the sweater on my shoulders, there was a tap at the arcadia door. Jeeves left me to fend for myself as he went to answer it. It was Cameron, all done up in the LPGA's best gear. She looked positively at home in her very snappy golf togs. "Good morning, are you ready?"

"Ready? For what?" I got that I was being tossed off the premises, but I didn't really think that I was going to play golf. I don't even own clubs. When I did sports, I preferred something a tad more—active.

"Golf, we're plaything together. Come on, I don't want to miss it." She tried to shove me towards the door.

"I don't play golf." I thought it was obvious.

"You putt don't you? Everyone putts. We can play best ball." She moved me towards my car. I noticed that a golf bag was sticking out of the space behind the front seats.

"What's this?" I indicated the offending bag.

"My clubs. Come on!" She opened the door for me and curveted around to the other side to let herself in. "Let's go!" She put some sunglasses on.

We found our way to the country club and by ten I was outfitted with some clubs, some spikes and some balls. I felt like an ass. "I feel like an ass." I complained as Cameron drove the cart out to the first tee.

"House, I'm dying to play this course, it's supposed to be awesome, please don't ruin this for me." She steered the cart to a hard right and we screeched up to the first tee. We hung out and waited for the foursome ahead of us to move on before she hit the ball. She drove it nearly 200 yards and it landed on the green.

"Damn. You really play don't you?" I was impressed. Little Cameron plays golf.

"Junior champ. Come on, let's putt." She sunk the ball easily and I batted it around for a while.

We hacked about; or rather I did while Cameron did a damn fine job of nearly making par on the course. "So why are we teamed up? Wouldn't you rather be making a couple of bucks off of some unsuspecting chumps?" It was time for my mid-morning dose.

She waved at me in annoyance. She thwacked the ball again and I hauled out grandfather's binoculars to chart its course onto the green. "I like playing by myself. Other people suck." She gave me a pointed look.

"I've been saying that for years." I muttered. She eagled the hole and I couldn't help but notice the self satisfied smile on her face. It's funny, but she has a very sweet smile and I can't remember when I've ever seen it.

I just sat in the cart. It was a hot, sunny day and I didn't even care about hitting the best ball. I wished I was at home, I had some new sheet music and I wanted to play. It was around two by the time we got done and we made our way back to the clubhouse. The rest of Vogler's guests were drinking and joking when we walked in.

We sat down and Cameron ordered a club sandwich. "It's what I always get after 18 holes." She explained as she sipped at a ginger ale.

I drank a large glass of water and waited for my hamburger with some interest. "I hate golf." I was just hoping to get back to the house so that I could log some sofa time.

Cameron sighed, "You said that. You know, it's a pretty day, can't you just enjoy it?"

I fixed her with my cold stare, "no."

"You like to say that a lot. I'm beginning to think that you were stunted in your emotional growth at the age of two." She rolled her straw wrapper.

"Ha. Ha." I sprinkled her with water. "So what new horrors await us when we get back to the 'big house'?" I asked.

"Didn't you read your agenda?" She shook her head as if lamenting my pitiable lack of intelligence.

"There was an agenda? Jeeves must have it. Trust me; I came here kicking and screaming." Our food had arrived and I spent a happy minute thumping ketchup onto my burger and fries.

"You aren't the only one who doesn't want to be here. How do you think I feel? I'm leaving and I managed to get my tail up here." She rearranged the contents of her sandwich as she spoke. Kind of persnickety if you ask me.

I took a big bite and had to stop and chew before I could respond. "Yes. Why _are _you here? I mean, if I were you, leaving and all, I'd have told Vogler to shove his invitation where the sun doesn't shine. So why did you come?" The contents of my burger slowly slid out as I waited for her answer.

She sipped her soda and took another bite. "Because I didn't want to burn any bridges."

I laughed, "Bridges? What ever would you need this place for? You and I, we think totally differently. I couldn't give a rat's ass about what anyone thinks about me. You've got a new job, you'll do it brilliantly. Why would you continue to subject yourself to this crap if you didn't have to? I think you're just playing the martyr again." I bit into the burger again, taking care to have condiments drip down my wrist.

"Well, that's you. You can afford to be an asshole. I'm just a normal person. I'm not brilliant, or famous. I don't have a disease named after me. I don't have companies begging me to endorse their products. I have to protect myself and if it means eating some shit every now and then, I guess that's what I'll have to do." She put a wedge of her sandwich back on the plate.

"Don't get upset. Eat your sandwich, you're wasting away. If you turned sideways, we'd lose you." I offered her a fry dredged in ketchup.

She took it from me and savagely bit the red head off of it, "You know, it wouldn't take much of an effort on your part to be nice. I think it's in you somewhere."

I sighed, "Why be nice? Ordinary people are nice. As you just eloquently stated, I'm not ordinary."

"All the more reason you should try harder. What do you think of people who bully the waitress?" She picked the bacon out and crunched it.

She had me there. I might be a jerk to patients and to administrators, but they're liars and sycophants. She knew that I was always pleasant to the staff. "That's self interest. I don't like spit in my food."

"Right, but you're willing to make an enemy out of a man like Vogler, a guy who can buy and sell you." She finished the final bites of her lunch. It did my heart good to see her clean her plate.

"No he can't. I think we've proven that." I pushed the remains of my food away.

She laughed, "Well, perhaps you did. So what's it like, being eminent?" She picked at the fries left on my plate.

I felt myself smile, dashed unnatural. "It's pretty great. I get to do exactly what I want, except when I get corralled into crap like weekends in the Hamptons. You never answered my question. What next?"

She smiled at me and reached for my hand, then she realized that I meant on our itinerary. "Oh. We're to go back to the house and play croquet or badminton or tennis or something."

I sulked, "Did he get his ideas about house parties from Henry James? It's anachronistic. I have a better idea. There's a DVD player in my room. Want to buy a couple of disks and hide away from the other guests?"

"Sure. I'm done with sports for the day." We got up and left under Vogler's hawk eye.

We cadged a few DVDs and headed back to the house. The rest of the guests were milling around politely, but without any real enjoyment. Cameron and I repaired to the pool house, which had been converted from my bedroom back into a cabana. We popped the first DVD in and lounged back on the numerous sofa pillows. I drew the shades to keep out the curious eyes of the few who were sunning their pallid skin at the pool.

At around seven Jeeves poked his head in. We were in the middle of Animal House. Made me pine for my college days, when I was young, callow and taking my health for granted. "Sir, shall I set out our dinner suit for tonight?"

Cameron giggled, "He's so classy. What's he doing with you?"

"I'm a classy guy." I waited for the laugh track, there being none, I continued. "Class isn't about ostentatious displays of wealth. It isn't about brand names and replacing things just because they're old. Class is that, je ne sais quoi, that element of effortlessness. Jeeves here has class, but that alone doesn't make me classy. Jeeves is the symbol of my class. Right Jeeves?" He was holding up a hanger with a black dinner jacket.

"Indubitably, Sir. How about our black jacket?" He waited patiently for me to decide.

"Jeeves, can't we just blow it off? I'm sure you could find a way to sneak some dinner into us. We're protesting; we're not going." I settled deep into the cushions of the sofa.

He cleared his throat and stared at us as though we were recalcitrant children. Cameron groaned and slowly rose up from the sofa. "I'll come back later to finish the disc. I'll see you at dinner."

I watched her walk out of the pool house. Absolutely adorable. Jeeves suggested a quick duck into the shower before I dressed. As usual, Jeeves was right, it set me right up. While you couldn't say I was looking forward to the evening at least I felt like I might survive it. "On with the soup and fish my man!" I said, just like my grandfather used to say. I provoked a small smile from Jeeves. "He really was a great old guy, wasn't he?"

"I didn't know him personally sir, but my Grandfather has said as much." He helped me on with the jacket and smoothed the shoulders down. I was becoming quite the natty dresser.

I gave him a Roman salute, he bowed and I biffed off to dinner.

Cameron and I were teamed up in the middle of the table between a couple of CEOs. It wouldn't surprise me to discover that either one of them was about to be indicted. The one to Cameron's left tried to engage her in conversation about golf. He had seen her on the course, and while he didn't see her play, he assumed that she was new to the game. She didn't disabuse him of this fact, but she was clearly tiring of his description of his own golf swing. On my right I was seated next to a woman who was so stiff and proper that I thought she might shatter if I used the wrong fork.

The dinner featured oysters, which I found odd. Oysters are rather a personal thing. You either love them or hate them. I never met anyone who was on the fence about them. I loved them and was prepared to slurp them down. These were elegant, blue point oysters served with the classical French sauces. I prefer my oysters like they serve them in New Orleans, hot sauce, horseradish and tons of fresh lemon. I had waded into my serving and was enjoying them noisily. The lady to my right gave them a delicate push away. Cameron looked distressed.

I leaned over to assess the problem, "What's the matter?"

She whispered in my ear, "Oysters. I don't trust myself."

"Don't you like them?"

"I love them," she confided in me, "but they make me…"

I paused with my shell in midair, "say no more. Go ahead; I'll be around to keep an eye on you." I swallowed my last one down and realized that I wanted more. I politely exchanged plates with the dinner partner to my right. She seemed relieved.

It was fun watching Cameron eat oysters. She got this look on her face. Eyes closed, moist lips, a slight flush in her cheeks. "You can taste the ocean," she breathed.

More courses followed. I wondered if we were going to be so old fashioned as to 'turn the table' by the time the main course showed up. This was a thing my grandmother used to do. If it seemed that each person was growing too fond of their companion on their left, she'd subtly shift the conversation to the right, causing the others to follow. It kept things lively. I also wondered if we'd be retro enough to have a Baked Alaska for dessert.

As it turned out we had some pear, pepper and port concoction that was meant to challenge our taste buds. I find chocolate challenging enough, thank you. But after a few hours Vogler attempted to herd us into his 'home theater' for some viewing. I started back out to the pool house when I felt a tug on my jacket. It was Cameron.

"Wait for me." She begged as she hurried up the staircase. Light on her feet.

I idled in the hall for a moment watching the crowd, full of wine and carbohydrates, wend their way into the theater. Just as the last lemming went over the cliff, Cameron descended the staircase. She had dressed in some sort of workout attire with a fluffy sweater over it. She had taken down her hair and she was barefoot. She looked about twelve years old. I felt about one thousand years old. We had made it as far as the French doors when Vogler stopped us. "Don't you want to see the movie?" He puffed on what I can only assume was a Cuban Cohiba. He had no imagination.

I was about to say something pithy when Cameron piped up. "That's okay; we've got something going ourselves. We'll see you in the morning." She grabbed my hand and we left without looking back.

As soon as we were on the patio she burst out laughing. "Oysters and wine are a ba-a-a-d combination."

"I think you've sufficiently messed with his head." I observed, steadying her on my good side.

We got to the pool house and I decanted her onto the sofa. She fiddled with the remote and started the movie at the food fight. I got out of my suit and joined her. She put her head on my shoulder.

There are things a gentleman doesn't do; one of them is take advantage of a young lady who might have had too much to drink. On the other hand, I enjoyed her company and I didn't want to ruin what had turned out to be a pleasant weekend. I shifted a bit, feigning discomfort. She adjusted herself, but left her hand on my knee. I could live with that. It was getting to be awkward. I think she had talked herself into believing that she was drunk enough to make a move. She seemed so vulnerable. A man would have to be further gone than I was to not be moved.

There was a quiet tap at the door and I saw Jeeves through a chink in the blinds. The man was some kind of mind-reader. I called for him to come in.

"Sir, if I might…" He came in and began to tidy up and hang up my suit and in general he found a hundred small things to do without actually being in the way.

Cameron and I finished up Animal House. It was late but neither one of us was done with the evening. She grabbed the remote and turned it to The Food Network. Iron Chef.

"Oh! I love this. There's a drinking game we can play!" She got up from her nest on the sofa and grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses from the wet bar in the corner.

Jeeves couldn't pretend to find anything else to do. He looked at me, waiting for me to give him a signal. "It's okay Jeeves, we'll…I'll…see you in the morning."

"Very good, sir." He drew the blinds shut and left.


	4. Jeeves Arranges it All

Jeeves Arranges it All.

After Jeeves left it seemed that I was on my own. Cameron was on my sofa, about one glass of wine away from alcohol poisoning. I gently took the bottle from her hand. "I think we might want this for later." I sounded like a cheesy seducer.

She pouted, probably one of her manipulations, long forgotten and rarely used. "Oh. I see. Can we still watch the show?" She had tucked her feet under one of the pillows and had wrapped herself up in a sofa throw, probably made of yak hair or something.

I turned to the TV set where one of the chefs was wrestling a giant squid. "I don't see how we could miss it."

She smiled, the sun shone and everything was once again all right. It was a tough balance keeping her happy. At first she just wanted someone to be kind to her. I'm not good at that stuff. I'm either incredibly granular or completely big picture. How people interact and social niceties, well, they're not really my forte. When did keeping her happy become so important?

Her eyes were fluttering with sleep and I had to decide. Do I make her leave or do I figure out how the two of us were to sleep together in the same room? She made no move towards departing; in fact she was the picture of contentment, all fuzzy in the corner of the horrible sofa. She wasn't going anywhere.

"So Cameron, it seems that you've set up light housekeeping here with me." I observed, keeping my tone light.

She started a bit, "Oh, right." She noticed that even though the chef had hacked it off with a large knife that the tentacle continued to move. "I guess I should go?" It was a question, not a statement.

Damn her for putting it all on me. No I didn't want her to go. I was actually having fun at one of the potentially deadliest weekends I've ever had. But I also wasn't about to start any romantic overtures, not the way things were between us. One spark and the whole thing could go up in flames.

I can come to snap decisions involving life or death, but when it comes to girls I get hopelessly tongue-tied. The sweet young thing says something, and it's the most charming thing you've ever heard. The correct response is a remark in kind, or even sweeping her into your arms. Except you've got to analyze it. _Is it possible she's addressing me? Does she really mean what I think she means? Do I have something in my teeth?_ By the time you arrive at a course of action, her face has fallen, and she feels rejected. Often she's been out of the room for a good five minutes before you realize where you went wrong.

Again, I could see that lovely, sunny look she has darken. I had to say something, the right thing. "I don't know." That may not have been the right thing, but it wasn't _nothing_.

Now she was puzzled. That was better than disappointed. "Oh. What would you like me to do?"

I decided that a light and airy tone would be appropriate, "I'll leave it to you, what do you suggest that we do sleepyhead?" I mean, come on, all she needed was a candle and a tire; it was obvious that she was ready to go to sleep.

A shy smile came to her lips. "How about a cuddle party?" When she lowered her eyes, her lashes created a fan across the tops of her cheeks.

"What is a cuddle party?" It sounded obvious, but it also sounded ridiculous.

"It's a new fad," she informed, "a group of people get together, in their jammies, and they hug and cuddle." She blushed and continued in a small, quiet voice, "We're all a bit starved for human contact."

I put on my stone face. The one that masks what I'm thinking and feeling. I should take it to Atlantic City and try it at the poker tables. As usual, I was at a loss for words. Frankly, the idea was incredibly appealing. I was terrified that she'd want to have sex. Not that sex is so terrible, but it is complicated and I was enjoying an uncomplicated existence lately. But cuddling, that's different. It's intimate without all the heavy overtones. I finally found the words I needed, "Should we call Foreman and Chase? Make it a real party? I'll bet they can dig up some potato chips."

She giggled, much to my relief. "If you think the pull-out can hold us all."

"We'll invite them the next time." We got up and made up the bed. I repaired the bathroom to get into my 'jammies' and retuned to find her smiling angelically on _her_ side of the bed. I closed my eyes and tried to think of baseball statistics.

I slid under the covers and lay there, staring at the ceiling thinking about Rod Carew. I think I waited for her to make the first move. I heard her sigh and then I felt her feet touching my calves. "Are they too cold?"

"No." I dared not say any more, I was afraid that my voice had already gone up an octave. I moved over towards her and she wrapped her legs around my leg and curled into me, resting her head on my chest. There was no other place for my arm but around her shoulders, and suddenly we were cuddling. I had forgotten how good it felt to hold someone.

"You're not so tough." She said while yawning. She gave me a squeeze and within a minute or so, she was breathing deeply and quietly; asleep.

I find it hard to live in the moment, to enjoy things as they occur. I think too much. I felt peaceful and happy with Cameron in my arms and I decided to close my eyes and turn my brain off.

When I woke up the sun filtered through partially opened blinds. Jeeves laid out breakfast on the glass topped table. Cameron happily spread jam on a piece of toast. "Rise and shine!" She fairly sang out.

Jeeves noiselessly set a place for me and I sat up and swung my legs over the bed. How do people get out of these contraptions without bruising and scraping themselves up? The sofa bed is Lucifer's footstool.

I put on my robe and took a dose of vitamin V. A cup of coffee and a piece of bacon made me decent company. "Did you sleep well?" I asked.

Cameron sipped her coffee and smiled, "very well."

There didn't seem to be anything more to say so we just ate in silence. Jeeves tidied up and put the bed together. I realized as the suitcases were pulled out, that we were about to make our escape.

Cameron sat back and looked at me. "So is this it?"

I picked up some toast crumbs with my finger and avoided her stare. It worked once, I thought I'd try it again, "I don't know."

She sighed. Light and shadow, this girl. "I don't want it to be."

The Vicodin had kicked in taking the edge was off making me feel mellow. I had learned over the years that I can't afford to get involved. You can't help them by empathizing with them. You can't help them by feeling their pain. But it wasn't about helping her. I decided to think about myself. "Me either."

"Okay." She perked up and sprung to her feet. She kissed me on the top of my head and headed for the door. "I'll see you later."

"Jeeves, I'm not entirely sure what just happened."

He poured me another cup of coffee. "I believe sir that Dr. Cameron enjoys your company."

It was that simple. It never occurred to me that she wanted companionship. What's so scary about that? "Oh. So what am I wearing for the ride back?"

A few pleasant hours later and I was back home with most of Sunday afternoon spend on my own, comfortable sofa. Jeeves attended to the baggage and I caught up on my reading.

Jeeves usually has Sundays off, so once he had squared away the wardrobe he took off for a night out. I had the windows open to enjoy the sounds of spring. Chirping crickets and the noise of kids out past their bedtime were soothing after such an active weekend.

I nursed a brandy and soda and leafed through Entertainment Weekly. There was a tap at my door. Right then I got a vibe, I knew it was her. I walked over to the peephole and looked out. She had leaned into the door so that all I could see was her eye.

I opened the door and motioned her in. She carried bags. She walked into the kitchen and I followed her, out of curiosity mostly. "I brought Chinese. I don't know about you, but I have a wicked craving for sweet and sour." She began to unpack the bags.

I watched her wordlessly. She made herself at home, getting out plates, and arranging the cartons on the counter. On one hand, I was hungry and it looked delicious. On the other I wondered what exactly she had assumed. I also wondered what I was assuming. She filled two plates and walked into the dining room.

I decided to be a good host and got some glasses and a cold bottle of chardonnay. I poured a bit in the glass for her and she picked it up and tasted it. "Oh, that has a lot of flavors in it."

"Good palate." I commented, and filled her glass, "where did you get the food from?" I picked up the chopsticks and inspected a dumpling.

She swallowed, "Golden Buddha, technically they're Korean, but they have the best food in town."

I nodded and ate some more. I wondered exactly what we had agreed to. Was she going to stay? Was I going to be her…_boyfriend_? A cold chill went through me; a boyfriend…at my age? None of it made any sense.

"Penny for your thoughts." She offered, nibbling through her sweet and sour.

I sipped the wine and grew thoughtful. What _were_ my thoughts? Did I really want to share them with her? What if I said something wrong? Who was I kidding? I always said the wrong thing. That's why, in times of personal crisis, I clammed up. It makes you wonder, how do people know you're drowning, if you can't yell for help?

"I'm a bit overwhelmed." Brevity seemed safe.

"I know what you mean," she agreed. "I think you know what I want, but I understand if you're not ready just yet. How about we go slow? We're quiet and friendly now. I like that. It's easy on my nerves." She sipped her wine and waited.

"Easy on your nerves? You're rough on mine. I _don't_ know what you want, or more precisely, I don't know why you want it. As I've frequently observed you're beautiful and gifted and you could have anyone and anything you wanted." There. I said it.

"What if I want to be with someone who challenges me?" She stood up and started to clear her plate.

I got up too. "Is that what it is?" It seemed strange to me. I'm an acquired taste, like lox or capers. How odd for Cameron to have acquired it.

"Yes. I have a brain too. You talk about me, and my body parts, like all that appeals to you is my appearance. But I know better. You appreciate my intellect." She smiled, "and you let me see a side of you that Chase and Foreman never will."

I put the plate in the sink. "Are you blackmailing me?" I ran some water on it and put it in the dishwasher.

She hit me in the arm and put her plate in the dishwasher next to mine. "What do you watch on Sunday night?"

I followed her into the den, "The Simpsons."

"Perfect." She handed me the remote and settled in on the sofa. "This is so comfortable." I don't think she meant the furniture.

I sat next to her, closer than I normally would have, and over the evening, she had managed merge into my space, her hand on my knee and her head on my shoulder. I realized that she was a warm person.

At about ten, Jeeves returned home. He popped his head into the den, "Good evening, sir, doctor." He included Cameron.

"Good evening, Jeeves." I said. "Have a nice night out?"

"Yes sir. I had an enjoyable time. I presume you did as well?" He quickly assessed the room to ensure that nothing had gotten mussed or untidy in his short absence.

"Yes, I can say we did. Dr. Cameron here brought over some take out and we've been watching trash on television."

He nodded, "indeed. Is there anything I can get you before I retire?"

"No thank you, Jeeves, I believe that Dr. Cameron and I are quite content. Sleep well."

He went back to his room and I returned to smelling Cameron's hair and trying to think of what the fragrance reminded me of.

"It was a good idea he had for me to bring over the Chinese." She said into my chest.

"Pardon me?" I didn't think that I heard her correctly.

"Jeeves. He told me that you would be alone tonight and suggested that I come by with dinner." She shifted herself so that she could face me.

"Jeeves told you to bring me dinner?" It didn't seem possible.

"Sure, before we left Vogler's." She got up and stretched. "So, do you want company tonight, or should I go home to sleep?"

"More cuddling?" I asked. I was still mulling over the whole Jeeves thing.

"Yes please," she implored. How could I say no? I'd remember to speak to Jeeves in the morning.


	5. Jeeves Knows All

Jeeves Knows All

Monday morning found me at the breakfast table poking at my oatmeal sullenly. I actually had no reason for being morose. Cameron had departed early, claiming a prior engagement with Pilates or something of the kind. My oatmeal was more than just a bowl of steaming hot, gray cereal. On the contrary it was loaded with raisins and brown sugar and capped with a crackly, sugar shell, much like that of crème brulee. No, it wasn't my breakfast that made me unhappy.

Jeeves placed a glass of hot Russian tea, sweetened with cherry preserves at my elbow and was making his escape when I decided to speak. "Jeeves." I said, being sure to calm my nerves before I spoke. He still intimidated me somewhat. But I remembered what my mother always said about the staff, 'you must take a firm hand.'

"Sir?" He replied politely. That's one of the things I enjoyed about Jeeves, he's exceedingly polite.

"Dr. Cameron mentioned something to me yesterday." I took a sip of tea, it was delicious.

"Oh?" He waited for me to continue.

"She says that you told her to bring me dinner last night." Get right to the point. I sipped again.

"It might have appeared that I had taken a liberty sir, but Dr. Cameron perhaps…extrapolated that information from my mentioning that I was taking the evening off." He topped off my glass.

"So you didn't suggest to her that she should stop by bearing cartons from Golden Buddha?" I sipped the glass. If you've never had Russian tea you need to stop right now and go get some. It's the perfect thing early in the morning.

"I may have mentioned that historically on our evenings off, our gentlemen and ladies enjoyed take away Chinese food. Will that be all, sir?" He made leave to go, but I halted him.

"I just want to be clear. I know, and I'm sure that you know, that the previous two generations of Jeeves' pretty much ran the lives of the previous two generations of Woosters. You and I also know that given the, ah…mental capacities of the previous generations that this was necessary. I'd like to point out that while I may need some assistance in the housekeeping and wardrobe departments, that I am very capable of managing my private affairs." I sipped the tea again.

"Certainly sir." He waited.

"So you don't need to have any more clandestine discussions with Dr. Cameron. Agreed?" I fixed him with a steely eye.

"Certainly sir," he repeated.

"Okay then. By the way, this is uncommonly good tea." I toasted him with my glass.

"Thank you sir, I'll be sure to keep it in stock for you." He went into the kitchen. He wouldn't do anything so obvious as to bash around the pots and pans, I got the distinct impression that he was miffed.

Oh well, these things happen even in the best regulated of households. I was sure that he'd get over it. I donned my coat, grabbed my cane and headed for the hospital.

On the short drive over, I thought about my situation with Cameron. I still wanted her to return to the hospital, but there was no good way of bringing that up without making it appear that I was wooing her just for that reason. Also, she had never told me what her plans were once she left Princeton-Plainsboro. Right now she was officially on vacation, but still on the payroll. We doctors have a tendency to rack up the vacation.

Since we didn't have any cases I decided to put in a few hours in the clinic. It was a good place for me to hide. I should have been more discrete, but I wasn't and frankly I wasn't in the mood to hear Foreman and Chase wax clever at my expense.

It's funny how spring hay fever brings people to the doctor. After treating yet another case of runny noses and watery eyes, I yearned for a good case of Marburg Hemorrhagic fever, not because it's so horrible and deadly, but just to make things interesting.

I'll admit; I miss my old life, zipping around the world, studying infectious disease. Working _with_ the WHO (not _for_, non-governmental, governmental agencies suck) helping to cheat death. My work used to save thousands, now I work on a much smaller scale. Regret weighed heavily on me as I stared into the mucus encrusted nostrils of a toddler whose mother was a tad too anxious. "He's got a cold." I informed her.

"But he's so fussy and cranky." She asked, "can't you give him something? My friend's doctor gave her daughter a Z-Pac. That seemed to work."

"We're all fussy and cranky. There are over two-hundred strains of the cold virus. And here's a newsflash, antibiotics only work on bacterial infections. Take him home, give him a warm bath in eucalyptus scented oil, bundle him up in a fluffy blanket and give him something sweet to drink. We'll all feel better." I ruffled the tyke's hair.

She sighed. 'That's it then?"

"I'm sorry. The good news is that Nobel Prize is still out there waiting for someone to figure it out, until then, it's take two Tylenol and call me in the morning." I noted the chart and sent her on her way.

I ran into Cuddy at the nurse's station, I started to turn around to avoid her, but no such luck. "Hey! Have you really been here all day?"

"Yes, just doing my part." I grabbed another chart, hoping to affect the look of a caring physician.

"You don't fool me." She said, with a big smirk on her face. She's a nice looking woman, when she's not about to lord something over me.

"I don't? You're right. Take me away. I'm not a doctor; I'm just a wandering madrigal. Shall I sing 'Greensleeves' for you?" I quipped. I'm a funny guy when I want to be.

"We didn't see that much of you this weekend." Again with the smirk.

"Ah, perhaps not. I was exiled to the pool house. I think Vogler has something against me." I flipped through the chart that I was holding. I was sure that the secret of alchemy was hidden within its curling pages.

"Right. Cameron was hard to find too. Rumor has it the two of you are an item." She was positively gloating.

Have you ever thought that you had all of your bases covered? You know that feeling when you've got something going on, let's say a small infatuation, but you think that it's your secret and that no one knows? So you go about your business and every now and again you get a bounce in your step. If anyone notices you tell them that you got some good news, or that you found a quarter. What I'm getting at is that I like to think that my private life is just that, private. Cuddy's remarks hit me like a freight train.

"Rumor?" I affected my skeptical face.

"The hospital is atwitter with it."

"Atwitter? Cuddy, really, get a dictionary, or better yet, a thesaurus." I shoved the folder back into the stack and headed towards my office.

She followed me down the hall, "so is she coming back?"

I stopped halfway to my office, "I don't know. Why don't you ask her?" I kept on walking.

She called after me, "You'd like that, wouldn't you."

Actually, I would.

When I got to my office I cued up the iPod and turned on my computer. I dreaded wading through my e-mail. After Vogler's ouster I had been showered with messages, mostly congratulatory. What is wrong with people? First of all, I didn't do anything, Cuddy and the board did. Secondly, we all won, not just me.

Most of the messages came from people who wouldn't normally give me the time of day. Doctors who gave me only cursory and grudging respect. I was the "go to" guy when one of their patients was about to go into the ditch. Having me around was like having a safety net, if they couldn't catch it, then I might. I deleted, without reading, most of them.

We didn't have an active case, although two of our patients were still recovering on the premises. Although I had very little contact with them during their crisis, I figured that I was a sitting duck in my office, so I needed an excuse to be elsewhere. I floated up to the rooms and checked their charts.

I don't like to be with the patients when they're on the mend. They're loopy from their meds and relieved to be recovering. They tend to be a bit too effusive in their expressions of gratitude. I checked their charts and discussed their progress with the nurses in charge. As I expected, things were progressing well.

As soon as it was after five, I went back to my office. I found Wilson sitting in one of the chairs trying to play with my Gameboy. He threw it aside when he saw me. "Boy! Am I glad to see you." I braced myself for his comments.

"Really? Go figure. Missed you this weekend." I avoided eye contact and started shuffling papers on my desk.

"I know. Julie has kicked me out." There were a few unpleasant moments of Wilson looking at the floor. "Can I stay with you?" I looked up at him and he seemed to be in earnest. Was it possible that he was so wrapped up in his own drama that he wasn't going to trying to get me to talk about Cameron?

"Has she thrown you out?" I turned off the computer and gathered up my gear for the ride home.

"Not just me, Thor too." He toed the carpet a bit.

"You _and_ the melancholy greyhound? Gosh, she really is cleaning house. I'm guessing the dog is more depressed than you are?" I shouldered my stuff and walked out, he followed me.

"Yes. I'm looking forward to hanging around with you for a change. You and Thor can take turns sighing. It should make a nice change of pace for me. Actually, it's been coming for so long, I'm just glad that the ax has finally fallen. So can I bring my stuff around tonight?" He walked with me out to the car.

I flung my bag behind the seats and opened the door. "I'll tell Jeeves to make up the spare room."

When I got home Jeeves was busy arranging the mail. I nodded at him and dropped my stuff at the front door. He came over to help me off with my coat. "I trust you had a pleasant day sir?"

I sunk into a chair and turned on Access Hollywood. "Tolerably so. Dr. Wilson will be arriving later this evening with a few things. He'll be staying with us for a while."

"Very good, sir. I shall make up the spare room directly. How many will there be for dinner?" He quickly made me a scotch and soda and handed it to me on a small, silver tray.

"I have no idea. Do we have enough for two guests?" I figured I'd hedge my bets.

"Certainly sir. I'll attend to everything." He hovered into the kitchen and to other parts of the flat making ready for our guests. Within the hour the most delicious aromas permeated the air.

At around eight the doorbell rang. It was Cameron. She rubbed my shoulders briefly on her way into the kitchen to see what Jeeves was cooking. About fifteen minutes later Wilson arrived burdened with luggage and a lethargic greyhound.

He handed me the beast's lead and I found myself eye to eye with him. I've always liked Thor. He was a washout as a racing dog, but he made an excellent animal companion. No barking, no jumping, no begging for attention. Just a few sighs and grunts and a head ready for a peaceful stroking. Thor sat down at my elbow and rested his head on my leg.

Cameron emerged from the kitchen with a glass of water, "now that's a picture. Whose is he?" She gave him a pat on the head. He bore it well.

"Wilson's. He's coming to stay for a while. This is Thor." I made the introductions.

Thor hoisted himself up grudgingly and walked up to sniff Cameron. She scratched him on the hind end, slightly above the base of his tail. He didn't exactly hate it. Thor seemed relieved when Wilson returned with a gigantic round cushion, which if I remember correctly, came off of a papasan chair he had when he was a resident.

Wilson stopped abruptly when he saw Cameron, "So it's true." He realized that he said it out loud and regrouped. "Nice to see you. I'll just see if Jeeves can find a place for Thor's things." He dropped the pillow on the floor next to the piano and Thor took himself off to mope in that corner.

Wilson and Jeeves were working out the details of where Thor would dine and where his kibble might be stored. Cameron gave me a hug and a nuzzle on the ear and tried to sit down with me in the large chair. It was a tight squeeze, but pleasant.

Soon thereafter Jeeves rang the gong and we all went into dine. Considering that I had thrown a houseguest, a romantic interest and a large, but well-behaved dog at him, Jeeves acquitted himself brilliantly.

Dinner started with consommé, followed by a chicken fricassee, a salad and for dessert, one of my very, favorite English dishes, sticky toffee pudding. All hot and gooey from the oven. I'm not a man given to smiling but when I dug my spoon into that hot caramel, cakey, goodness I melted. "Jeeves," I sighed with contentment, "you've outdone yourself."

"I endeavor to give satisfaction sir." He bowed formally and exited, leaving me and my guests to savor our dessert.

Wilson licked his spoon, "you know; I could get used to this." I must have had a worried look on my face, because he added, "maybe my next wife will cook."

"You know Wilson, after this one, I'd think you'd be giving this up by now. You've got a very nice dog, why not call it a day?" I scraped my plate for the last morsel of caramel.

"Greg, come on, you know I'm a hopeless romantic." Wilson gave Cameron a meaningful look. He better be prepared to do it vicariously.

"That means he's already got the fourth one lined up." I interpreted for Cameron.

"Ah." She said and tactfully took another mouthful of pudding.

After our meal Wilson took Thor out for a walk and Cameron and I enjoyed a quiet moment alone. All in all a stellar evening.


	6. Jeeves and the Houseguests

Jeeves and the Houseguests

It has been my observation that those who have been blessed with talents in one particular field may not possess the simple skills that make one's life easy and pleasurable. That is to say, they have no common sense. Take for example, my current employer, Dr. Gregory House. Not to put too fine a point on it, he is not precisely my employer. The estate of the late Mrs. Wooster holds that office officially, but I attend to Dr. House and so, it is he whom I serve.

Mrs. Wooster was a lively lady while she was alive and took great pleasure in bridge, her dogs and her family. When young Miss Wooster went to America to live with her husband, Mr. House, Mrs. Wooster tried to make her life as comfortable as possible, without interfering in her household affairs, which is as it should be.

When I was but a lad my father and grandfather brought me up to understand that our place was in service to those of a certain social standing. It was also brought to my attention that employment in a family, well-connected and sufficiently…endowed, was the most suitable of positions.

I assisted my father as footman, in the Wooster household and later, as Mrs. Wooster got on in years, I managed her household as my father and grandfather before me had done. It was very kind of her to remember me in her will, and to offer me employment with Dr. House when she passed on.

At first I had misgivings about leaving London. It had been my home for all of my life and while I have had an opportunity for extensive travel, I regarded London as my permanent place of residence. However, one must have an occupation and I decided that I would rather "reign in hell than serve in heaven" and I made the move to New Jersey.

Dr. House is not what we would describe as genial, but he is fair, and I imagine that his responsibilities weigh heavily upon him. We have come to a rapprochement in our relations. He tends to his duties at the hospital and leaves the rest to me.

Lately we've had a full house, you should pardon the pun. In addition to myself, Dr. Wilson and his dog are in residence. There is also a young lady, although her status has not yet been defined…formally. One thing that you should know about a valet: we do not knock before entering a room, and no matter what we see, we must behave as if it were high tea at the Ritz.

If one's master's wish is to have houseguests, then it is but for the valet to accommodate them as best as one's resources allow. Dr. Wilson slept in the den, the dog, Thor, slept by the piano and the young lady…well; it's not for me to say.

For a week we were relatively content. Dr. House seemed to enjoy his company. But I noticed a bit of, for want of a better word, edge to his tone of voice. Dr. House, from living in his family's home in England, understood my place within his household and we lived together harmoniously. Dr. House is a quiet gentleman and he is used to spending a certain amount of time alone to pursue his interests.

We had established a routine, the various doctors would arrive at around six-thirty, I would offer them a beverage and then after an interval of about half an hour, I would serve dinner. Normally, if Dr. House were alone, he might occupy himself by playing his piano or in watching television. With his guests though, he was required to tax his already…limited resources...in being pleasant to his visitors.

One afternoon, after returning with Thor from a quick stroll around the block, I saw Dr. House's motor in the car park. He was home unusually early. When I arrived at the flat I found him deeply engrossed in playing a piece on the piano. I ignored him and I bribed the dog into accompanying me into the kitchen so as to let him have some time to himself. I was rewarded for my efforts with a Chopin concerto.

Dr. Wilson arrived home just as Dr. House was closing the piano lid over the keys. They had some conversation and I offered them a cocktail. Dr. House's small respite allowed him to be amiable as Dr. Wilson discussed his day. If I might offer my opinion, I believe that Dr. Wilson requires the society of others in order to be content, Dr. House…does not.

Dr. Cameron, who had resumed working with Drs. House and Wilson, had decided to spend her evening at her own flat, so the men were on their own. Dr. Cameron is a bit more sensitive to the needs of others than Dr. Wilson might be. We will make allowances for Dr. Wilson's recent emotional upheaval however.

In any profession it is necessary to be flexible. Often it is not possible to arrange things as one might wish, so one must learn to find opportunities in the most unlikely of places.

Dr. House had encountered some unpleasantness during his duties that required me to bring a change of clothes to him at the hospital. I was directed to Dr. House's office and waited patiently for him to return from the shower.

As I waited a very nice looking woman had peeked in. "Oh, excuse me; I was looking for Dr. House."

I stood and extended my hand, "I am Dr. House's valet; my name is Jeeves. Dr. House will return momentarily."

She expressed her amusement in a pleasant laugh, "I'm Dr. Cuddy. House's valet?" Although she was polite she also seemed skeptical.

"Yes madam." She appeared to want to say something else, but Dr. House had returned, handing me the offensive clothing in a plastic bag.

"Jeeves, you're a life-saver. I believe that these need to be burned." He moved towards his desk, brushing past Dr. Cuddy.

"Oh surely not, Sir. I shall see what can be done." They were rather noxious, but I had befriended a very good dry cleaner so I did hold out hope for our navy blue suit.

"Please yourself. Oh, there will be three for dinner tonight." He added, "What's for dessert?"

"I had planned a Spotted Dick, but if you'd prefer something else…" I endeavored to give him satisfaction.

He smiled brightly, "No. That's fine. Cuddy, you're the adventurous type, have you ever had Spotted Dick?"

She coughed and gave him a frosty look. She put a file in front of Dr. House, not allowing him to deter her from her primary purpose, which I suspect was to express displeasure in some way.

"Jeeves, I have an excellent idea. Would it be too much trouble to add one more for dinner?"

"Not at all sir."

"Dr. Cuddy, would you like to join us for dinner this evening?" He smiled at her pleasantly. It did not suit him.

She looked first to me, then to him, then back at me. "What's the gag?"

"I'm serious. Wilson and Cameron will be there. Come on, once you've had Spotted Dick, you'll never go back." He wheedled.

I stood and gave her a slight bow, "I'll just return to the flat to make the appropriate preparations."

"Thank you, Jeeves. Now Cuddy, what are you trying to torture me with?" He returned to his conversation with her.

At seven most of our guests arrived. I served cocktails and canapés. I was surprised at how frequently Dr. House entertained since I had been given to understand that he led a quiet and retiring type of life.

Drs. Wilson and Cameron attempted to play with the dog and Dr. House watched cheerfully. He checked his watch periodically and after a time our final guest arrived. "Dr. Cuddy." I greeted her. I suspect that she had arrived straight from her office.

She stepped in and took the proffered cocktail. "What the hell _is _this?" I believe that she expressed genuine amazement.

"Welcome." Dr. House said, toasting her with the remains of his Manhattan. I returned to the kitchen to put the finishing touches on dinner.

The doctors conversed in the living room as I insured that all was well with dinner. There was no gong, as was usual in a large house, so it was up to me to announce that dinner was served.

I passed around a tureen of consommé, and Drs. House, Cameron and Wilson all helped themselves. It was clear that they had grown accustomed to informal service. Dr. Cuddy seemed apprehensive. "I believe that you'll find it restorative. It's made of root vegetables and chicken stock." I informed her as she ladled it into the bowl.

She took a small spoonful and nodded, "Very nice."

As I put the tureen on the buffet I noticed that she had stolen a glance at Dr. Wilson. That glance formed the foundation of my plan.

The rest of dinner went smoothly, with conversation flowing more freely with each refill of the wine glasses. It was impossible not to notice Dr. Cuddy's marked preference for Dr. Wilson. Dr. Wilson, still smarting from his recent domestic upheaval seemed insensible of her attentions.

As a gentleman's personal gentleman, one has a slightly different view of the world than one who toils more among the _hoi polloi_. That is to say that when one is in such close proximity with a small group of people, and one is intimate with them, that it is easy to understand their motivations and their inclinations.

I needed only to speak with Valentina, our cleaning lady to have my suspicions confirmed. Dr. House, along with many of his colleagues, employed the services of a Russian émigré named Valentina for her weekly services. Since this arrangement had served Dr. House well, and a valet does not bother himself with the drudgery of heavy cleaning, it seemed best to continue to engage her for this purpose.

Valentina is and exceptionally pretty young woman and enjoyed the Kusmi Petrushka tea that I had ordered for our pantry. She gently stirred the preserves in to sweeten the tea and took a scone that I had prepared just for the occasion. I noted with satisfaction the sparkling clean kitchen that we sat in.

"Mr. Jeeves, you certainly know good tea." She said shyly, taking a small sip.

"Thank you. I'm glad that you are enjoying it." I sipped my own unsweetened cup. "I understand that on Thursdays that you clean for Dr. Cuddy."

"Yes, she has a large flat not too far from here." She confirmed, "She likes me to dust under the bed. I think she has allergies." She spread a piece of scone with clotted cream. "Where do you find these things?" She had a pretty smile.

"There is a gentleman who works at the Whole Foods market who will order items for us. Dr. House enjoys them. If there is anything that you would like, I'll be happy to see if he can obtain it for you." I offered. I poured more tea into her glass.

"That is very interesting. There are quite a few Russian stores, I get most of what I need, but I like some of your British food." Again she smiled.

"I think I understand you. Perhaps you would be free to attend the cinema this weekend?" Why not kill two birds with one stone?

"I would like that." She sipped her tea again.

"So, tell me more about Dr. Cuddy, how big is her flat exactly?" I prodded.

"She has three bedrooms. One is for her computer, but one has a big bed. I don't think she uses that very much. Wasteful." She pronounced. "But it is good to have waste. Yes?"

"Yes. Surplus is always to be desired. So she could easily accommodate a guest for an indefinite period of time?" I offered her another scone, which she declined.

"I suppose. Ah. Mr. Jeeves, you are what we call a _yenta_." She winked at me. "So who is the lucky gentleman?"

"I was thinking of Dr. Wilson, he's in the process of disentangling himself at the moment." I tried to put it delicately.

"Oh. He's on the…rebound." Valentina is more pragmatic about these matters than I.

"So to speak." I admitted. "Nevertheless, I believe that Dr. Cuddy already has an inclination…"

"Oh, I think I know who you mean. The handsome one? He's fair-haired." She smiled. "I used to clean for him before he got married. He's charming." She seemed enigmatic.

"One never knows what might happen when two people are thrown together." I trusted that she would be able to pick up the thread of my thought.

"Ah. That is true." She agreed.

The only thing left to do was to bring the parties together in such a way as to leave nothing to chance. I devoted some thought to it.

I followed the blue line to the Witherspoon Wing of the hospital and began searching for Dr. Cuddy's office. It seemed that if she were truly interested in Dr. Wilson, that starting there would insure that I could get them both together for my _announcement_.

As I passed a glass door marked _Clinic_, I saw her standing at the admission desk reviewing a chart. I pushed through and approached her. She looked up at me and smiled. "Hello, Mr. Jeeves. What brings you here? House forget his lunch money?" She chuckled at her little joke.

"No M'am. I am, in fact, trying to find Dr. Wilson; would you be able to provide me with directions to his office?" I referred to my small scrap of paper, as though it had the direction on it. In fact, it was my grocery list.

"I'll take you there myself. The hospital is a bit tricky, if you're unfamiliar. The good news is that when we get there, there's cheese." She smiled conspiratorially at me.

"M'am?" I did not understand.

"A maze. You know, a mouse; cheese." She explained.

"Ah. Yes, very amusing." I managed a small smile.

Dr. Wilson was emerging from his office as we approached. This was perfect. "Wilson!" Dr. Cuddy called to him. "Hold up! Mr. Jeeves needs you."

He turned around. He seemed happy to see Dr. Cuddy. "Yes? Is everything okay?"

"It concerns Thor, Sir. Perhaps we might want some privacy?" I indicated his office, hoping that he didn't take me up on it.

"Is he okay?" He seemed concerned.

"Certainly Sir. It's more about his welcome in the building." I said.

"Are they giving us trouble again?" It seems that there had been an issue before, so much the better. "I know that we've been using the freight elevator," he sighed, "It can't be helped. How much time do we have?"

"Three days." I informed him. It seemed a nice, round number.

"Not even until the weekend? Damn. I hate to board him." He said. He collected his thoughts.

Dr. Cuddy cleared her throat. "If you like, you can bring him to stay with me." She offered.

"That's really nice Lisa, but he's so moody and all of this moving around has left him unusually unhappy. I hate to be away from him. I guess I can try to find a motel or something…"

"Don't be silly. Come stay with me. I've got plenty of room and my building allows big dogs. I won't take no for an answer. Let's grab some lunch and we can discuss it." She steered him down the hall.

"Very good, Sir." I bowed and turned to make my escape.

Later that evening, as I brought the cocktails in, Dr. House smiled. "Have you heard? Wilson is shacking up with Cuddy. It could be the start of a beautiful friendship. Or his fourth divorce. Oh well, faint heart n'er won fair lady, or something like that." He sipped. "Imagine him getting it all organized like that. And how convenient for me."

He regarded me suspiciously. It wounded my feelings I fear. "Yes, Sir. Very convenient. What time shall I serve dinner?"

"Any time you like. What's for dessert?" He asked.

"It's such a hot summer day; I thought a raspberry fool might be in order." I responded, moving into the kitchen to complete the dinner preparations.

"Just so long you don't think I'm a fool," he muttered under his breath.


End file.
